Do Not Stand at My Bed and Weep
by Krismarie
Summary: Bella Swan's life is not normal. And she sorta likes it that way. A really short story about love, one that comes from all sorts of places.


**The beginning of an epiphany **

There's always a certain part of a song that moves you more than the rest.

It calls you, pulls you in, and then releases you in a completely different realm.

_He_ is that part for me; the part that makes a normal, seemingly predictable thing something marvelous. And in a life full of mediocre songs… of steady rhythms and endless progressions that, after a while, tend to sound exactly the same, he was a breath of fresh air. He broke through all of that. Like a symphony. Like one of the Hans Zimmer's or John William's epic soundtracks; the ones that ensnare thousands of thirsty and obsessed souls.

Or maybe I'm just trying to explain something unexplainable.

He simply is… extraordinary.

And maybe it's time I told him that.

**2 weeks after epiphany**

Music class starts in 15 minutes, and I'm still stuck … somewhere. Not exactly sure. The entire world seems to be one huge blur.

And it's ridiculous that I should remember my class in this state.

"Bella," a voice says. "Bella."

And then I know why I do.

**4 weeks after epiphany**

"You've got to eat it, for heaven's sake," he states, exasperated.

I huff and turn my back on him, frowning. "Nothing, and I mean nothing, will induce me to eat that."

I hear the bed shift under his weight, and suddenly he's right there, breathing down my neck.

"It's just chicken noodle soup," he says, "What's so uneatable about that?"

"Inedible," I say. "And disgusting, and against all I believe in."

There is a brief silence. And then…

"After all this time, you've never told me you were a vegetarian."

I roll my eyes, and tell him so.

"Not a vegetarian. I just don't eat chicken."

He sighs. "You're so weird. How about pizza, then?"

"Hawaiian?" I ask hopefully.

He laughs, "Now, _that's_ plucking disgusting."

**6 weeks after epiphany**

"Shift, maybe I shouldn't have done that."

We both watch the doors shut behind the tearful nurse.

He sighs for about the hundredth time, looking at me, "Maybe?"

"She shouldn't have come at me like that, though, especially while holding that sorry excuse for a murder weapon."

He laughs. "Are you sure you're not pregnant? Cause your mood swings are telling me otherwise."

I hit him with my unrestrained arm. "No."

He should know if I were.

**7 weeks after epiphany**

"I knew it! I knew that slap was going to come back and bite me in the arse," I joke, smiling up at him. "I bet she went and messed up my test results immediately."

He doesn't smile back.

In fact, he doesn't do much of anything. He's frozen.

**7 ½ weeks after epiphany**

"There must be something else you can do," _his_ voice pleads.

"I'm sorry," doctor I-don't-give-a-pluck says. "She must wait, just like every other person with her condition, until we can get a donor."

The lights are off, but I can still make out a hint of their silhouettes against the separating curtain, the light from the halfway open door permeating the darkness.

There is an interminable silence.

"And I'm supposed to just stand here and do absolutely nothing?" he says, whispering but not really, his words cutting through the stillness.

"That, Mr. Cullen, is entirely up to you."

He swears, and I'm suddenly filled with an insane urge to giggle. At this rate, he'll owe me money for the rest of his life.

**8 weeks after epiphany**

"I don't want them to come," I pout, setting down my half eaten cup of grape jell-o, and starting on the pudding that he so thoughtfully went across the city to obtain.

"But they're your friends," he says, looking all puzzled and adorably confused.

I roll my eyes (a habit, as you've guessed).

"Exactly," I say, "If they see me like this, I'll never live it down."

I would not have to explain this to a girl.

"But you're beautiful," he says.

I sigh. He is so clueless sometimes. "I know, Edward. But if they see me _this_ helpless, I will _never _live it down. They'll mock me for the rest of my life."

Silence.

…

I think I said something wrong, because he shuts down immediately.

I offer him some of my pudding.

8 ¼ weeks after epiphany

"Oh, Bella! Sweet, cuddly, adorable Bella!"

Oh dancing coconuts. I would know that voice anywhere.

I quickly drop my book and hide under the hospital sheets.

"Emmett, for the love of barnacles, how many times must I remind you not to yell like that in public?"

Holy mother of chickens, Rosalie is here, too?

"Where is Bella, anyway?"

And Alice?

Pluck, pluck, pluckity, pluck pluck.

The door to my room opens.

And I think I might have screeched a little.

"Surprise!"

Ugh. Edward is going to pay for this. I'll see to it.

**8 ¾ weeks after epiphany**

"No more balloons, please," I complain as the door opens yet again. "If I get just one more 'Get Well' balloon I might have to kill someone."

"It's just me," _he_ says.

He's holding two balloons, though.

I'm about to kick him out of my room until I see what they say.

_Marie. Me._

"Oh my Godric, please tell me that's not a proposal."

He has the decency to look sheepish. And embarrassed. And so beautiful I could die.

"It's not a proposal?" he says it like a question.

And I burst into tears.

**9 ½ weeks after epiphany**

"Bellaaaa, I brought you a chicken," I heard Emmett yell from across the hospital. Well, not really, but it's completely possible.

"I don't eat chicken!" I call back, holding my left hand up against the light, watching the ring shimmer and glow.

Emmett, Rosalie, and every other acquaintance of mine suddenly burst into the room, bringing with them an entire stampede of noise.

And a chicken.

A live chicken.

I am too shocked to react.

How the pluck did they get past security with that?

_Approximately 20 minutes later_

"But it's your wedding present, dude!" Emmett says, "You're supposed to show appreciation! And joy and stuff!"

Edward rolls his eyes. It's a rather contagious habit.

"It's a damn-" He sneaks a peek at me, "I mean, a darn chicken, for heaven's sake! And it's not even dead."

He's right. The aforementioned chicken happens to be strutting around my hospital room, letting everyone know that he's alpha male. Rosalie and Alice are huddled in the chairs by a corner, actually quite … intimidated… by it.

"Bella doesn't like dead chickens," Emmett argues, "And it'll be a pluck-awesome addition to your future family."

I laugh at that. Edward doesn't find it half so funny.

"Yes, an awesome addition to our dinner table!"

Emmett and I both gasp.

Needless to know, the chicken prevails.

**10 weeks after epiphany**

"Bella, how are you holding up, kiddo?" my dad, Charlie, asks me over the phone.

I breathe deeply. "I'm fine, daddy. How's the hotel?"

"I'm not at the hotel."

I see Edward toss in his makeshift bed next to mine, and lower my voice. "Then where are you?"

"Right here," my dad says, his voice ringing in the air surrounding me.

I gasp, looking up. And there he is.

My smile nearly overwhelms my face.

**11 weeks after epiphany**

My mom will be the death of me.

Edward has the same thoughts, but regarding a certain bird.

And speaking of Edward…

"How did you meet him?" my mom asks, stroking my head, "And _why _didn't you tell me anything?"

I sigh for about the millionth time that day.

"I told you already, it was embarrassing!"

"Oh, pooh, Bella," she says, "I'm your mother."

"Fine," I exclaim, "He caught me spying on him after music class. He was the TA, so I saw him every now and then, and I was intrigued."

My mother grins, "That's not so bad."

"I was hiding under his piano."

**11 ½ weeks after epiphany**

"Hello Isabella, how are you feeling?"

The doctor makes yet another appearance. I begin to think he does that to annoy me, to remind me exactly why I'm here.

"Just like I felt yesterday," I murmur. "Lousy."

He nods, like he understands what I'm going through. "I heard the good news of your engagement," he says, walking over to check my vitals and the machines that sustain them.

"That's nice," I say, because I honestly don't want to talk right now.

A pause. "So you're going to get married in the hospital?" he asks, picking up my tray of uneaten hospital food.

I glare at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He holds his hands in the air, quickly retreating, "Nothing. Just wondering."

My glare follows him all the way to the door.

**12 weeks after epiphany**

"I'm telling you, Edward, that doctor is determined to see me dead. Why, just yesterday he had those god-awful nurses take almost half of my blood supply."

He chuckles, but doesn't meet my eyes. "Blood supply? Sounds like something a vampire would say."

"You're not being supportive," I say.

**13 weeks after epiphany**

My parents are arguing again. It's been happening for quite a while now, but this is the first time I'm conscious enough to hear their words. For some reason, they seem to wait until I'm asleep to start.

"We shouldn't let him do this," my dad says, his voice loud enough for me to hear it through the door, "It's not fair to either of them."

"But you heard him, Charlie; he wants to do this," Renee argues, "And besides, it's not as though there's a better option."

"There's always a choice," my dad says. "All this about self-sacrifice is not sitting well with me."

"But it's not a sacrifice," my mom murmurs, "Not for him."

**15 weeks after epiphany**

Two weeks have passed, and I still haven't been able to stop those words from replaying in my head:

"Not a sacrifice… not a sacrifice… not a sacrifice…"

The worst part?

No one feels inclined to give me the least hint of their meaning.

I could always guess, or something, but for some reason, I don't want to know. I don't even want to think about it.

Which is impossible, since the words are there, constantly bugging me.

But knowing what they mean does not seem too bad, if I really think about it.

Today is one of those days where I wish I could read minds.


End file.
